Scribbles & Munch

      Last month I saw a smashing performance of "My Fair Lady."  It had been years since I watched the movie with Audrey Hepburn (in my opinion, still the most beautiful Hollywood actress of all time), and I'd never seen a live performance of the whole musical.  The set design was great, the cast was brilliant, and the costumes were amazing--especially the hats!

Oh, the hats!!!!

      I had a great time, but there was some nagging little discomfort in the back of my mind.  Thanksgiving dinner occurred the very next day, however, and the copious amounts of turkey and other delicacies smothered said discomfort very well.  It wasn't until later when I found the playbill that I recollected the sensation, and began to ponder.
      My Fair Lady is a classic musical; a Broadway hit, rendered immortal by the film version, and the songs are frankly timeless.*  And the costumes.  Did I mention the hats?  Anyway, despite all this, it has never been one of my favorite musicals--but until this week I'd never stopped to wonder why.  Now, reflecting on the excellent stage production I'd just enjoyed, I finally put my finger on it.

      When you step back from the charm of the characters and the joy of the music, this is one really, really disturbing plot-line.  It basically tells the story of an impoverished young woman, neglected and exploited by her alcoholic father, who dares to attempt to break out of her under-privileged social caste only to become embroiled in an emotionally abusive relationship that disintegrates her social ties, shatters her identity, and seems to leave her chained to her abuser for life.  But with great dance numbers.
      So let's trace this back to it's roots.  The musical "My Fair Lady" is based on the play "Pygmalion" by George Bernard Shaw, which essentially tells the same story.  That play is based on the ancient Greek myth of the same name, briefly: a genius sculptor named Pygmalion scorns women and all concepts of romantic love, and decides to mock both by creating his "perfect woman" in the shape of a statue.  Displeased, Aphrodite makes him fall helplessly in love with his own creation.  For awhile he pretends, but eventually breaks down, begs the goddess's forgiveness, and asks for a real woman to love.  He returns to his workshop, kisses the statue farewell, only to find Aphrodite has taken pity on him and brings the statue to life as a woman named Galatea.  The End.
      Oddly enough, I've always loved that myth.  To me it's the story of a man recognizing his own folly and embracing humility.  But Pygmalion's reimagined character as Professor Higgins barely tastes even a crumb of humility in "My Fair Lady."**  If anything, it seems his concept of women as things - first as annoying things to be avoided, then a flawed thing to be changed, and finally as a thing that's preferable to have around after all - is reinforced by Eliza Doolittle's choice to return to him, even after the way he's treated her.  The way he focuses on her "flaws" and takes her assistance around his home for granted is impersonal at best, and the way he speaks to her is abusive.  Yes, abusive: let's call a spade a spade.
      The stage performance I saw last month attempted to address this issue. They coached the actors to use body language and inflection to create a sense of change in Higgins, and a sense of strength in Eliza.  They attempted to portray Higgins as having an epiphany of love in his final song, "I've Grown Accustom To Her Face," and also a feeling of humility in the tentative, penitent way he delivers his famous last line: "Eliza?  Where the devil are my slippers?"  But performance can only change the meaning of words so much.

Here's your bloody slippers, Henry.  Wear these for a few days, then we'll talk.

      This is what has been bothering me since the first time I saw this musical, which was about age 10.  I was a feminist at age 10, before I even knew what the word meant.  And I think that's because I have always had a deeply ingrained value of fair play.  Life isn't fair, the forces of Nature aren't fair, and Death is certainly never fair.  But human beings can choose to be fair in the ways they treat one another.  I am an advocate for women and minorities because society does not treat them fairly, and it should.  Henry Higgins treats Eliza Doolittle horribly unfairly, and it's a tragedy that she lets him.
      I want to re-write this musical.  Here's my version:

      Everything stays the same up until the night of the ball, with the exception of the Higgins house staff empathizing with Eliza instead of Henry.  When she leaves after his dismissive and impersonal treatment of her following the ball, the servants all quit.  The shock gives Henry a stroke.  The stroke causes him to lose the power of speech, making him even more ornery than before, and nobody will come and work for him.  On the verge of ruin, his mother comes to his aid (once more) by hiring Eliza - who has made good on her "threat" to become a vocal coach using Henry's own techniques - to teach him to speak again.  Eliza essentially takes control of his household, his finances, and his life, giving him a taste of his own medicine as she helps him re-learn how to talk.  And he REALLY learns humility then.


   My version makes this song seem waaaaay more ominous.  Which is frankly awesome. Anyway, I haven't decided whether they would end up together or not.  How would you end it?




*Proof: my husband, who had never seen the musical in any format, told me afterward that he recognized over half of the songs.

**I've neither read the script nor seen a performance of Shaw's play, so I cannot comment on his rendition.